


watch out for love

by diana_hawthorne (dhawthorne)



Series: Private Lives [11]
Category: Law & Order
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-17
Updated: 2018-12-17
Packaged: 2019-09-21 11:18:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17042744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dhawthorne/pseuds/diana_hawthorne
Summary: Ben Stone reflects on his marriage and the forthcoming birth of his child.Part of my endless series, "Private Lives," but can be read as a stand-alone.Set May 1999. This fic references the episode "Killerz."





	watch out for love

**Author's Note:**

> The title of this fic is from an Anne Sexton poem.
> 
> As of 5/20/19, I've edited this fic to be canon-compliant in regards to Ben's children.

He wakes up early and climbs out of bed, careful not to disturb his wife. He has a lot of work to do--he’s involved in a difficult bit of his novel right now and he needs time to work on it alone. Elizabeth has cut back on her freelance work significantly to prepare for the baby, so she’s around the apartment far more than normal, proving to be incredibly distracting and detrimental to his progress.

He manages to ease the door to their bedroom closed without waking her and sighs in relief. Wrapped in his dressing gown, he pads into the kitchen and starts the coffee before settling down at the desk in his study, which adjoined the kitchen. He opens his notebook and reads his last few pages but he closes the notebook when he realizes he can’t concentrate.

He didn’t, doesn’t, want a baby. When she told him she was pregnant he was incredibly surprised. He’d been careful… she was on birth control and he’d quite unconsciously kept track of her cycle, making sure he took extra care during that time. They were lax that one night--he’d been away for a month and he missed her, his beautiful wife… she made a delicious dinner, lit candles, opened a bottle of champagne, and he’d taken her to bed immediately after without any of their usual precautions.

She didn’t realize she was pregnant until she was two months along. She’d been quite ill, staying home from work for a week before he finally prevailed on her to go see her doctor. She went by herself when he was out and when she returned home she had the oddest look on her fact. She then told him, quite nervously, that she was two months pregnant, and he was completely dismayed. He’d leaned forward quickly to embrace her, holding her until he could school his face to reflect only careful joy, and she believed him, expressing her relief with such joy that he was wracked with guilt over his lie.

He runs a tired hand over his eyes. He’s fifty-three years old and he’s about to become a father for a third time. He's the father of two children already, one of whom is in college, the other who is in high school. That’s why he was away for so long--he was touring colleges with Pam. Elizabeth had declined to accompany him, reminding him gently that Pam was not very fond of her and would likely not find her presence desirable. As well, he knew that she was desperate for a child of her own and she wanted no substitute in her life, even if she refused to admit it to him.

And now she’s seven months pregnant with her first--and emphatically only--child. She’s thrilled and even though he isn’t, she doesn’t seem to mind. She’s completely absorbed in the baby, making plans for the future, painting its room and picking out furniture. After her first trimester he slowly slipped out of her routine of doctor’s visits and deferred to her for any choices related to it. She noticed, presumably, but didn’t say anything, nor did she try to involve him in further appointments or plans.

She must know that he doesn’t want a child--she’s a psychologist, she’s keenly aware of his feelings on everything. He’s grateful that at least she suggested a nanny, that she doesn’t expect him to take care of it. And he’s grateful that they have such a large apartment--surely he’ll be unable to hear it from his study. If he does, he’ll find a little office to rent somewhere. Actually, that might be a good idea in any case…

His thoughts are abruptly curtailed by the sound of his wife in the kitchen, making tea. He pushes aside his manuscript and goes to say good morning. She looks up at him and smiles, greeting him with a warm embrace, the hard mound of her belly pressing against him. He feels the baby kick and pulls back abruptly, giving the bulge a light pat before he pours himself some coffee. 

He’s in love with her but he knows that the baby is coming between them. When his first wife was pregnant with Peter and Pamela he had no such reservations. He was delighted, couldn’t read enough about the subject, was deeply involved in every stage, could spend hours resting his hand on her belly to feel the baby kick. But everything--their relationship, their marriage--changed after their children were born and he does not want that to happen to his marriage with Elizabeth. This time around he can barely summon up enough interest to discuss anything about it. He doesn’t like it, and he bitterly resents this child who has taken over their lives even before its birth. He feels guilty, of course--this is his child, after all, with his beloved wife--but this is not the way he wanted his life to be. He just wants his wife.

‘The verdict in the Jenny Brandt case is being handed down today,’ she says, sitting down at the kitchen table.

He nods, leaning against the counter.

‘I don’t know what will happen. That poor girl…’ she trails off, looking into her cup of tea. He knows she hasn’t been sleeping well because of this case, nightmares plaguing her. A few times she’s woken up in a panic, trying not to scream. These nights inevitably wake him up too and he feels obliged to comfort her, holding her in his arms for hours until she falls asleep again.

A child who ruthlessly killed another child… he knows that she prays so desperately for the safety of her forthcoming baby, especially after she takes this case, defending the killer, trying to get her help. The world is terrifying--they know that well, she herself has suffered more than most, he doesn’t understand how she can want the responsibility of protecting a child from all this…

‘I should get ready. I’ll be home after. Do you want to go out for lunch?’

He agrees. He’ll talk to her about his plan for an office then.

She nods, getting up from the chair with a little difficulty, resting her hand on her back. She’s a bit larger than he thought she’d be at barely seven months, the bulge quite pronounced. He watches her surreptitiously as she walks out of the kitchen and down the hallway to their bedroom, then returns to his study. 

For the next half hour he taps his pen on the desk, trying to figure out the next twist in his story. Right now his character, Robert McAvoy, has discovered that the defence counsel has suborned perjury after the jury has already been sequestered. He doesn’t know what should happen next, so he tries to focus on another part of the story, Robert’s relationship with the beguiling society woman he met during his first trial. But he doesn’t know what to write there, either. When he wrote his first two books he was going through a dry spell and it felt good to write about pursuing a woman even if he wasn’t. The next ones were easy to write--Elizabeth proved an inspiring muse and he wrote two books, his best, in a year and a half. He was halfway through the fifth in the series when she announced she was pregnant… and it’s now five months later and he hasn’t written another decent word since. He does need an office, or he could start working out of the club every day…

She comes back to say goodbye and to confirm their lunch date, reminding him that she has a doctor’s appointment later. She gives him a generous kiss, pressing herself up against him though the swell of her stomach keeps her a bit apart. He doesn’t quite respond with the level of enthusiasm she expects and when she pulls back she asks if he’s all right. He nods, feeling every one of the fifteen years’ difference in their ages.

‘I’ll see you later, then, darling.’

‘Bye,’ he says, forcing a smile.

She looks at him for a careful moment before she nods and leaves, the apartment door closing firmly behind her.

 

Now that he’s made up his mind to work someplace else the words start flowing again. He is halfway through outlining the rest of the book, coming up with a remarkably clever new twist, when Elizabeth comes home.

‘Ben?’ she calls out, and he sighs, frustrated. He ignores her, hoping she’ll take the hint that he’s working and leave him to it. Of course she doesn’t--and he supposes he can’t blame her, she’s incredibly aware he hasn’t written anything in months, and there’s no reason for her to suppose he’s finally started up again--for he hears her footsteps come down the hall to his study.

‘We won the case. Are you ready for lunch? I thought we might go to Swifty’s.’

He ignores her statement. ‘I won’t make it to lunch; I’m writing,’ he says shortly.

She doesn’t respond and he looks away from his writing to glance up at her; she is fighting to control her response to the obvious hurt she feels as his sharp words. Showing an emotional reaction is new for her; her mood swings due to her pregnancy are clear only because her normal state of being is calm detachment.

‘Could you close the door, please,’ he says, not framing it as a question, and she nods briefly and does as he asks, her lips pressed together. He waits to return to his work until he hears her footsteps retreat down the hallway and hears the apartment door close behind her. He pushes back the guilt he feels and turns back to his work, pausing a few hours later to make a sandwich, then returning to his writing.

He looks up from his work long after the sun has set and the glow from the streetlights penetrates the dimness of his study. He’s finished a detailed outline of the rest of the book and a full chapter and a half before he finally sets down his pen, stands up, and stretches. He’s suddenly aware that he’s starving and he ventures out into the kitchen. The kitchen and hallway are dark, and now that he thinks about it he didn’t hear her come back. Well, maybe she did and he didn’t notice. Right now he doesn’t particularly want to seek her out--he’s filled with the deep satisfaction of doing really good work and he doesn’t want to be faced with his wife right now and the hurt he caused her.

Looking into the fridge, he finds a wedge of brie and the makings of a salad. He opens the cupboards and pulls out some crackers, then pours himself a glass of wine. Assembling his dinner, he carries it to the kitchen table and relaxes with a book. After dinner, he cleans up and goes into his bedroom. Elizabeth isn’t there either, hasn’t been there at all--the bed is still neatly made as she does every morning. He picks up his cell phone, lying on his nightstand, and checks his messages. He’s missed a call from her and picks up his voicemail.

‘I didn’t want to interrupt your writing so I’ve decided to stay at Peter and Miranda’s tonight. I had my appointment with Barbara and everything’s fine. I’ll speak to you later.’

He feels an enormous sense of relief, tempered of course by guilt. But it will be so nice to have a decent night’s sleep for the first time in weeks. He sets down his phone and decides to pour himself a hefty scotch and take a hot shower. That completed, he relaxes on the bed with his book and sips his second scotch. A few hours later he locks up the apartment and goes to sleep, stretched out blissfully in their large bed, alone.


End file.
